


The Paradox Job

by TheNarator



Series: The Relative Merits of Heroes Without Powers [1]
Category: Masks: A New Generation (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Badasses in Distress, Blackmail, Found Family Feels, Gen, Heist plot, Kidnapping, Misgendering, Rescue Mission, Social engineering, Some Swearing, Torture, by the rules of pg-13 movies i was allowed one f-bomb, i placed it very carefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarator/pseuds/TheNarator
Summary: The truck contained a large and conspicuous power dampener, and a number of wire cages. Five wire cages to be exact. All of them were empty. As Nightingale stood frozen they one by one looked over: first Clubs, then Dynamo, Sundog, Butterfly and Darkling. As they saw the interior of the truck they all reached the same conclusion.There was no shipment. Or rather, the shipment was them.





	1. Chapter 1

Nightingale went down first.

It had been a perfectly ordinary mission, in the beginning. Darkling’s family had received intelligence that there was going to be shipment for the Ring of Gyges passing through the warehouse district, not far from where the old Lairhouse had been. The pack had chosen positions and lain in wait, expecting the trucks at any time. They should have twigged that something was wrong when there was only one truck, but when the fight broke out no one was paying very close attention to the number of vehicles until Nightingale threw open the rear doors.

The truck contained a large and conspicuous power dampener, and a number of wire cages. Five wire cages to be exact. All of them were empty. As Nightingale stood frozen they one by one looked over: first Clubs, then Dynamo, Sundog, Butterfly and Darkling. As they saw the interior of the truck they all reached the same conclusion.

There was no shipment. Or rather, the shipment was them.

“It’s a trap!” Nightingale shouted, leaping backward to try and take to the air, but one of the thugs slammed the butt of his gun against her back and forced her to her knees inside the truck. He jumped in after her and shoved her into one of the cages before she could regain her feet, and locked it behind her.

“Nightingale!” Clubs yelled, leaping into the back of the truck to try and free her, but the thug who had been fighting Butterfly, who she’d been obliged to give some room to avoid taking the barrel of his gun the teeth, aimed at Clubs’ back and fired.

With a cry Clubs went down, bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder, and the thug in the truck shoved him into another cage.

“Clubs!” Nightingale shrieked, rattling the bars of her cage, but it was solid and the power dampener was doing its work.

The thug who’d shot clubs turned his weapon on Darkling next, but before he could shoot Butterfly high kicked his gun so that it whacked him hard in the nose. Another well placed kick to the groin had the thug on his knees, and Butterfly turned to the others. Dynamo, who had been trying to get at another thug with her stunchucks, activated her force field belt and ran toward the truck. Multiple thugs tried to stop her, but her force field barreled through them like a battering ram. She leaped into the back of the truck, her belt’s protection knocking aside the thug that had trapped her teammates, and began trying to undo the locks on the cages.

Low on time, Dynamo simply put her hand on the lock and tried to short it out, but apparently this had been factored into preparations. She screamed as whatever was in the lock flooded her system, electricity crackling along her skin, and her belt shorted out with a whirring buzz. She dropped like a stone, and was promptly shoved into a third cage.

Butterfly was distracted at that point by another thug coming at her from behind. He got an arm around her neck in a sleeper hold, and for a few seconds she was unable to free herself. She was just beginning to see blackness creep in at the edges of her vision when suddenly light exploded from above, and Sundog’s voice cut through the confusion.

“Let my family go!” they said, tone furious and commanding.

The thugs ignored them, but it was distraction enough for Butterfly to fling the one that had hold of her over her shoulder. He landed on his back, dazed and half blind, and Butterfly stood with one hand on his neck, exerting just enough pressure to cut off his air, but not enough to crush the windpipe. Above her Sundog was still shouting for them to let the others go, but down on the ground another thug was aiming at Sundog. Before Butterfly could move suddenly a small tuft of feathers was sticking out of Sundog’s back. A stunning dart.

As Sundog began to fall, their light fading as they lost consciousness, Darkling dived into the shadows surrounding the nearest warehouse. There was a long shadow from a nearby stack of crates right where Sundog was falling, and Darkling opened a portal directly beneath them. Sundog fell through it, and then there was a grunt of pain from Darkling as the exit portal in the shadows of the warehouse dumped the unconscious sunbadger atop them.

Not willing to waste the opportunity, the thugs swarmed into the shadows. In seconds four of them had the winded Darkling by all four limbs, and a fifth was carrying Sundog. Darkling was not so much hoisted as throw, struggling and kicking, into the truck and shoved into a cage by one of the soldiers that climbed in after them, and Sundog was placed none too gently in another.

“No!” Butterfly screamed, lifting her foot from the thug’s throat, uncaring whether she had successfully knocked him out or not.

She ran for the truck, but all the thugs except the one she’d been grinding under her heel were piling into the back of the truck. With a jolt of horror Butterfly realized why there were only five cages in the back of the truck; she had no powers, and hence was of no interest to the Ring of Gyges. The doors to the back of the truck slammed before she reached them, and the truck sped off just as her fingers brushed the handle. She ran after it for a few yards, screaming incoherently, but it was no good. She could not catch up. She couldn’t save her family.

Finally Butterfly stopped running and bent double, hands on her knees, breathing hard. She heard the tires of the truck squealing as they sped off, and there was the sound of laughter, and then of gunfire. Butterfly put up an arm to shield her face, and felt the bullet bounce off her suit. More laughter, and then the truck turned a corner and was gone.

Never, Butterfly thought, had she wished for superpowers. She’d always done enough, been enough, as an ordinary human. Her body was a weapon, a finely tuned instrument of beautiful destruction, and that had always,  _ always _ been enough. As she watched the truck vanish however, she found that she couldn’t help but wish for some power that could reach out and stop them from getting away. Her family were right there, they were so close, and if they got any farther she would-

She shook herself. The truck was gone, and so was her family. Now she needed to concentrate on getting them back.

She turned, to see the thug she’d been choking with her foot sitting up and rubbing his throat. He had been left behind by his fellows, who had probably believe him unconscious. Now he turned to Butterfly, saw what was clearly the completely savage look on her face, and turned tail to flee.

“Oh no you don’t!” she shouted, breaking into a run.

The man was still dazed, and Butterfly was desperate, and she closed the distance between them easily. She kicked him in the back, hard, and he went sprawling forward onto the pavement. She turned him over, onto his back, with her foot, and he looked up at her in nothing short of horror and despair.

“Where are they taking my family?” Butterfly demanded.

“I don’t know,” the man shook his head.

Butterfly put her foot on his throat and pressed lightly. “Try again.”

“You don’t know the corners of the harbor my bits are gonna end up in if I tell you,” the man wheezed.

Butterfly reached up and traced Silver Star’s diadem with a finger. “Recognize this?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked suddenly even more terrified than before. Butterfly summoned up every scrap of anger and remembered what Kate had told her.  _ They have to believe you’ll really hurt them. _

“I was trained by Silver Star herself,” Butterfly told him, her tone cold as ice. “If you dodge my question one more time I will crush your throat beneath my foot, don’t think I won’t.”

The man swallowed, then whimpered. “There’s a piece of paper in my jacket. It’s got the address.”


	2. Chapter 2

Clubs drifted in and out, for a while. He could feel pain in his shoulder, but familiar pain; pain that he knew, and could deal with. What was unfamiliar was the fact that the pain wasn’t going away. His healing factor would ordinarily have kicked in by now, closing the wound and quickly erasing the accompanying discomfort. This time however, the pain lingered, and a warm wetness spread out from his shoulder across his shirt.

He heard Nightingale calling for him, and Darkling. Both of them sounded very far away. He tried to answer them, but his tongue felt thick and stupid in his mouth. His eyes were closed -- when had he closed his eyes? -- but when he tried to open them his eyelids wouldn’t lift. They seemed heavier than anything he’d ever tried to punch his way through.

Eventually he felt himself being lifted and turned over, and then he was laid on a surface that was tilted, so he felt half like he was standing and half like he was lying down. It was cold, and coldness encircled his wrists as well. He tried to move, but his limbs seemed as heavy as his eyelids.

Then suddenly the pain began to ebb away rapidly, and as it went clarity returned to Clubs’ mind.

Nightingale had been put in a cage.

Clubs had tried to get her out.

Clubs had been shot.

Clubs had no idea what had happened next.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the light from a streetlamp directly overheard, to find himself being unloaded from a truck on some kind of stand like a figurine in a museum. He tried to climb off, but his limbs were shackled and bolted to the table. He craned his neck to look around, and was able to see Dynamo on another wheeled stand like his, her wrists and ankles shackled in place, and her eyes closed.

“Clubs!” came Nightingale’s voice, drawing Clubs’s attention back to the truck.

Nightingale was still in the cage he’d been trying to free her from when he’d been shot, her fingers poking through the wire mesh and her eyes wide and terrified. There were tear tracks on her face, like she had been crying.

They had made Nightingale cry.

With a roar so ferocious the two thugs who had been wheeling him back from the truck jumped backwards, Clubs began to struggle fiercely. He kicked with both feet and used every ounce of strength trying to wrench both arms loose, but he was firmly bolted to the table. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get free.

“Let them go!” he yelled instead, still thrashing. “Let all of them go now!”

No one paid him any attention. The two thugs, men in workman uniforms rather than the soldier types who had abducted them, again went to Clubs’ stand and began to wheel him away from the truck. Two more of them jumped into the back and began carefully opening Darkling’s cage, another stand waiting to receive them on the ground. Only Nightingale and Darkling were still in the truck. Where was Sundog? Where was Butterfly?

Abruptly Clubs was turned around, so that he was facing a low, one-story building that sprawled outwards instead of upwards. It was gray and industrial looking, made of cinder blocks and with no visible windows. In front of Clubs was a pair of steel doors flung wide, and already disappearing through them into the clean white hallway within was another stand bearing Sundog.

“Clubs!” came Nightingale’s voice from somewhere behind him, amidst the sound of Darkling’s various swears and shouting.

“Nightingale!” he called back, trying to comfort her, but fear was welling up inside him and he knew it was showing in his voice. He forced it down beneath anger and tried again. “You bastards, let her go!”

Again no one paid him any mind, and he was wheeled into the building as helpless as a broken toy.

***

“He’s not answering,” Portia said apologetically, lowering her phone from her ear and hitting the end call button before the voicemail could start recording.

Olivia made a noise of frustration and threw herself onto the bed backwards, and Pox fluttered down from the headboard to snuggle against her cheek. She had come home in a panic less than half an hour ago, muttering to herself and on the verge of tears. Portia had been getting a snack -- luckily, as Olivia might not have woken her up even for this -- and had quickly ascertained that rest of Olivia’s team had been abducted by the very organization they had been trying to foil that night. Olivia knew where they had been taken, but she didn’t think she could storm the place by herself, so she’d asked Portia to call Tornado to see if he would help.

“Can you try again?” Olivia asked earnestly. 

“I’ll text him,” Portia offered placatingly.

Portia opened her text conversation with Tornado. It was under the fake name John Egbert, and it contained mostly Tornado’s specs for the various thing he’d had her build. If she scrolled up far enough she knew she’d find the occasional “please” or “thank you,” but she would have to scroll pretty far.

_ SOS, _ she typed. _ Olivia needs you. _

“What now?” Olivia asked, sitting up on the bed. “How long does he take to text back?”

“Not sure,” Portia admitted, taking a seat at her desk chair and letting the hand holding her phone rest in her lap. “Could be a while.”

“So, what, we just wait?” Olivia demanded.

“Pretty much,” Portia winced, hoping Olivia _ would _ wait. Pox made a chirruping noise from her position on Portia’s pillow.

Olivia threw herself down on the bed next to Pox again. “How do you do this?” she demanded. “How do you just sit here and . . . _ wait _, for something to happen?!”

“Well knowing its my sister doesn’t make it any easier,” Portia pursed her lips and raise an eyebrow.

Olivia gave her a guilty look, and Portia softened. “But you answer right away when I text you.”

“Did you say it was urgent?” Olivia asked, a little despairingly.

“I said it was an emergency,” Portia told her. “I said-”

Her phone rang.

Portia nearly dropped it in surprise. Tornado only ever got back to her that fast when he was expecting to hear from her, usually when she’d just finished her latest invention as his behest. It warmed her heart a little, knowing that all she had to do was type _ SOS _ and he’d be there for her.

“What is it?” Tornado said as soon as the call connected. He sounded grumpy, and not at all as concerned as she had expected. “What does your brat sister need at this hour?”

Portia put the phone on speaker, grateful she had not done so immediately. “Olivia needs your help,” she said, then nodded to her sister.

Olivia bent over the phone. “My team’s been taken,” she said urgently, “by the Ring of Gyges. I know where they are, but I don’t know how long they’ll stay there; Gyges tends to ship people out wherever they’re sending them pretty soon. I need your help to-”

“You need _ my _ help,” Tornado interrupted, and his tone was strange. Portia couldn’t place it.

“Yes,” Olivia said through gritted teeth, “I need your help to rescue them. Can you meet me at the house? Or better yet, at 836-”

“Hold on now,” Tornado said, not at all in the rushed, frantic way that Olivia was speaking, but rather slow and contemplative. “We didn’t establish that I was _ going _ to help you, just that you need my help. And you admit to it.”

“Yes, I admit to it!” Olivia snapped. “Now will you or won’t you help me save my team?”

“I’m a busy man,” Tornado hedged, “I’m not sure I have the time to go rescue some young upstarts who decided to play superhero.”

“They’ve been taken by the Ring of Gyges,” Olivia said incredulously. “Did you miss a memo or something? Those guys are seriously bad new!” She paused, pouting. “And we do not play superhero, we _ are _ heroes.”

“A _ real _ hero would just save her team herself,” Tornado replied, and suddenly Portia realized why he had answered so fast. Not because she’d called for help. Because he wanted to rub it in Olivia’s face.

Olivia swallowed, blinking back angry tears. “I can’t risk this going south with my team locked up,” she insisted. “I need as much help as I can get, now are you in or out?”

“Out,” said Tornado, “unless you make it worth my while.”

“You want _ money? _” Olivia said in pure disgust.

“No,” Tornado scoffed, “I want you to give up your little fantasy of being a superhero and stick to dancing.”

There was a pause, and Portia looked up at Olivia. She was silent, breath caught as she considered Tornado’s words. Portia could only imagine what was going through her mind right now. What would Silver Star say, if she gave up on being a hero now? What would her team say? What would become of all the little girls that looked up to Butterfly, who saw in her a dream that they had been taught they would be denied? Still, despite all of this, Portia knew what Olivia’s answer would be before she gave it.

“Done,” she said, closing her eyes so that the black butterfly painted across her face became solid.

Tornado laughed. “Looking for an excuse were you?” Portia could practically _ hear _ him grinning. “Fine, I’ll save your pals. When I get around to it.”

“What?” Olivia’s eyes came open. “No! We need to go right now-”

“Look for the big bust in the news in, eh, a couple days,” Tornado said confidently. “And don’t worry about them until then. I’m sure they’ll be fine-”

“That’s not good enough!” Olivia shouted, loud enough that Portia’s eyes flicked to the door, wondering if she’d woken their mother. “We are going right-”

The phone beeped, and the line went dead.

“Mother-” Olivia bit back a swear and made a frustrated noise, throwing back her head to gesture angrily at the ceiling.

“Jerk,” said Pox, aptly.

“Maybe he’s bluffing,” Portia offered, but it was devoid of any real belief.

“He’s not bluffing,” Olivia said, straightening and standing up from the bed. Pox leaped into the air and landed on her shoulder. “And even if he is, I can’t take that chance.”

“What are you going to do?” Portia asked as Olivia crossed to the door.

Olivia paused with her hand on the knob, then turned slightly to face Portia. “I’m going to talk to Darkling’s family. They wouldn’t like it, but its my next best bet.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Portia demanded.

“I have other people I can ask,” Olivia said, then pulled open the door.

“And if _ that _ doesn’t work?” Portia said desperately, and Olivia went out into the hallway.

Olivia paused, half in and half out of Portia’s room, but did not look back. “I’ll figure it out,” she said, and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where’s Clubs?!” Nightingale demanded, throwing her weight against her restraints as much as was possible while bolted to an upright table. “Where are you taking him?!”

The men rolling her down the clean, white, empty hallway ignored her, acting almost as if they couldn’t hear her frantic questions at all. It was unnerving, being treated like she wasn’t doing anything, like she was just an object to be shifted from one room to another. She was already terrified, but this cold indifference did nothing for her nerves, and less than nothing for her temper.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing as best she could. “I’ll kill you all, let me go!”

This did not persuade her captors, who continued to act as though they couldn’t hear her. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they were just pretending. Maybe they’d been doing this so long they’d learned to tune out the frantic cries of their victims. Nightingale didn’t particularly care what the reason was, she just knew that when she got out she was going to make them regret.

Continuing to scream and swear, Nightingale instead concentrated on summoning up her power. She had tried, in the truck, clenching her hands tight around the wires of her cage until her fingers bled, but the power dampener had done its work well. Now the restraints were giving her the same feeling the power dampener had, making a wall out of her skin that her powers could not escape. She pressed at it, throwing all the force of her powers behind the push, but to no avail. Whatever was in these restraints, it was as effective as the power dampener. She wasn’t using her powers so long as she was shackled like this.

At long last the workmen stopped at one of the doors set into the walls on either side of the hallway and pushed it open. Nightingale was wheeled into a small, cramped room that was even more clean and white than the hallway. The walls, floor and ceiling were the same white tile, and there was no furniture or adornment anywhere, save only for the large mirror running the length of one wall. The air coming from a tiny vent near the ceiling was cold and sterile-smelling, like a hospital.

“You’ll regret this!” Nightingale shouted, still struggling with body and powers against the restraints as she was wheeled into the room and then turned to face the door. “I’m getting out of here and then I’m going to make all of you regret being born!”

Once again she was ignored, and the workmen filed out.

Nightingale screamed, for a while. She screamed her pain and fear and helpless frustration into the spotless white room. Then, once she had screamed enough for her throat to be sore and scratchy, she stopped screaming and tried to think. There had to be a way out of here. There had to be.

She had to get these restraints off. Which meant she would have to get someone to take them off her. Appealing to the humanity of anyone here seemed a completely lost cause, which left her with intimidation. If they believed she could get out on her own, eventually, she might be able to tempt someone here into letting her go in exchange for sparing them from her wrath. Might.

At length, though she did not know how much time had actually passed, a thin woman in a white lab coat came through the door. She had mouse-brown hair done up in a tight bun and horned rimmed spectacles perched on her narrow nose, and she was wearing a decidedly sour expression. With her she brought a cart, on which was a machine with many switches and dials, and wires coming out of it connected to electrodes, laid out neatly beside the machine.

“Let me go,” said Nightingale immediately.

The woman gave her an unimpressed look, then began attaching electrodes to Nightingale’s temples.

Nightingale craned her neck to get away. “Let me go or I’ll kill you.”

“Unlikely,” the woman said dryly.

It was the first acknowledgement of her presence, of her words, of her continued humanity, that Nightingale had received since she’d arrived. It was a strange thing to be grateful for, but it helped her fear fall down beneath anger. She summoned up that anger now, hoping it could be persuaded to get her out of here.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, quiet and deadly calm, looking the women square in the eye. “I’m Nightingale. The same Nightingale that died a few months ago. I died, and I was buried, and then I came back because there are people who need me. Not even death could keep me away from the people I love forever, so do you really think these little shackles are going to hold me for long? I’m going to get out of here, and then I’m going to make everyone who hurt me and my family regret having bones.”

The woman had paused while Nightingale spoke, and now Nightingale leaned in close and glared her down.

“Let. Me. Go.”

The woman’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Unlikely.”

***

The Shadow Fortress, as Butterfly liked to refer to the base Darkling’s family maintained in Halcyon, wasn’t difficult to get into. The door was very well hidden, but once you knew where it was it was left rather shockingly unlocked. Butterfly wondered if anyone had actually used the door since the Pack had last been here, when they had left without locking it, given that the base belonged to a family of teleporters.

Trying not to think about being here with her family Butterfly opened the trap door, and she and Pox descended in the the Shadow Fortress.

She found both Darkling’s parents working at the supercomputer, side by side as they typed on separate keyboards. Both of them looked up when she entered, but immediately went back to their work when they saw it was her, and only Eclipse cleared her throat and glanced over at Antumbra, who was fiddling with an old radio in the back corner. Antumbra turned her head at the noise, saw Butterfly and switched off the radio.

“Yes,” she said, before Butterfly could explain, “we know what happened.”

“You do?” Butterfly asked, perplexed.

Antumbra nodded sadly. “My source got back to me as soon as they heard,” she said. “We were . . . disappointed, that the trap worked, but it can’t be helped. Morgan is still young, after all.”

“They fought bravely,” Butterfly tried to defend Darkling. “They were only caught because they tried to save Sundog-”

“Whatever the reason,” Antumbra held up a hand to stem the explanation, “what happened happened. Now we have to get them back.”

“Do you have a plan?” Butterfly asked, hope making her feel lighter than air. “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Antumbra said, “but thank you for the offer. This is a family matter.”

“The Pack is my family too,” Butterfly insisted. “I can help! I can fight, I can sneak, I can-”

“You can go home and let us work,” Antumbra cut her off, a hairline fracture appearing in her gentle demeanor.

“I have the address of where they’re being held,” Butterfly told her. “I  _ can _ help, I-”

“We have a plan,” Antumbra interrupted her again. “We know where people with hereditary powers are shipped when they’re abducted by Gyges. We know where and how to intercept the transportation. We’ll get them back.”

“But, that’s just Darkling,” Butterfly shook her head. “The Ring of Gyges ships people to different places based on power origin. No one else will be sent to the same place as Darkling.”

“Morgan takes priority,” Antumbra said. “They are the future of our legacy. We can’t-”

“So you’re just going to leave the rest of them there?” It was Butterfly’s turn to interrupt.

Antumbra gave a deep, weary sigh. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand!” Butterfly fought the urge to stamp her foot on the floor. Pox, still on Butterfly’s shoulder, make an oddly cat-like hissing noise through her beak, her fur standing on end and her feathers puffed out to make her appear bigger. “You’re heroes! How can you just leave my team to rot like this?”

Antumbra shook her head but said nothing.

Butterfly glared at her for a moment longer, then spun on her heel and headed for the door. “If you won’t help me I’ll save them myself,” she called over her shoulder. “Darkling, and the rest of our family!”

No one tried to stop her or call after her, and once she was out in the open air again Butterfly had to stop and take a moment to calm the racing of her heart. She was so hopped up on horrified fury it seemed close to bursting out of her chest.

“Mean,” said Pox, fur and feathers still fluffed up. She generally tried to avoid showing that she could speak around people she or Butterfly did not trust, and neither of them had ever liked Darkling’s family.

“You’re not wrong,” said Butterfly, petting her absently as she stared unseeingly into space, blinking back angry tears for the second time that night.

She took a deep breath, and then another, and then she began to walk back the way she had come. There was one more place she could go for help, even though she liked it less still than asking Darkling’s family. One more chance to get some backup.

Barring that, she and Pox were going in alone.


	4. Chapter 4

When he’d been at Ceyx, Clubs had been relatively compliant. Resistance, he had learned, got him nothing but pain, pain for himself and for his sisters. The scientists there weren’t stupid, and weren’t above using Clubs and his sisters against one another. Resistance therefore was stupid, and selfish, and not to be indulged.

Here though, things were different. Clubs knew the others wouldn’t be thinking about what would spare them pain, they’d be fighting with all their strength to get free. That meant Clubs had to keep as much attention on himself as he possibly could to avoid it being spared for the others. If every extra pair of hands in the building were managing him, they couldn’t be hurting anyone else.

So, he struggled. He roared. He thrashed. He kicked. He used every ounce of strength that had been restored to him when the power dampener had gone out of range to try and rip the massive shackles out by the bolts. It did him no good, and they took a cattle prod to his side several times as they wheeled him down a long, white hallway. He didn’t particularly mind that pain. A mosquito bite compared to what he’d been through before.

“When I get out of here you’re all dead!” Clubs yelled, not sure he truly believed he would get the chance to prove such a claim.

Eventually they wheeled him into a room with a large machine Clubs vaguely recognized. He didn’t know the name of it, but he’d been inside one before. It filled the whole room, and there was a narrow tube in one side that he would be inserted into, to do some kind of scan.

“No way!” Clubs shouted, throwing his weight against the restraints, but it seemed they didn’t need to unbind him for this part. They simply adjusted the stand he was bolted to until it was more like a table where he was laid out flat on his back, and from there the entire thing was inserted into the tube.

“Hold still,” said a calm, dispassionate voice from nowhere once Cubs was inside.

Clubs did not hold still, wiggling with as much of his body as he could move, making sure to be in constant motion.

An electric shock, like the cattleprod but from all four of his limbs at once and much, much stronger, ripped through Clubs. He cried out in pain, arching as the electricity crackled through his bones. When it was over he slumped back to the table, panting and too exhausted to move.

“Thank you,” said the voice, and then the machine turned on.

There was a series of loud, hollow _ thud _ noises before he really began to feel it. A pain in his shoulder, right where the bullet had lodged on the day of his escape. He knew immediately what it was, even though he hadn’t thought about it nearly since the day it had come to rest there. It was like he was being shot all over again, this time in slow motion. Somehow, the bullet was moving.

Maybe it was because he was already exhausted, but Clubs decided not to let on that he was in pain. He laid still, and he panted, but he did not cry out or say anything. He could feel the bullet nearing the surface of his skin, slowly worming its was through flesh that healed immediately around it. Any second now it would work its way out.

Suddenly the bullet pierced Clubs’ skin, and then several things happened at once. There was a loud noise, almost like a gun being fired. The rhythmic _ thudding _ of the machine stopped. The lights went out. Somebody screamed.

There were a few moments when everything was still and quiet. Then Clubs was being sild out of the machine, into the room where the lights were still on, to find a completely irate man in a white lab coat and a bristly moustache standing over him.

“You broke it!” the man said angrily. “You little heathen, you _ broke _ my MRI!”

Clubs blinked. “Not sorry.”

The man growled, eyes flashing. “You will be!” he snarled, then began barking orders at the workmen who had wheeled Clubs into the room. “Get him to room 708! And bring me the smallest one from his shipment!”

Clubs was wheeled out of the machine room again, and down several more long, white hallways until they came to a door marked 708. The room was moderately sized and completely empty. They wheeled him inside, and turned him to face one of the walls adjacent to the one with the door in it. It was the only wall with anything on it, a large mirror running the length of the room, and though he couldn’t place why Clubs had an immediately uneasy feeling about it. Then the workmen left him alone.

No sooner had the door closed after them than the mirror in front of Clubs changed, to show him a window into another room, almost identical to the one he was in. In that room was another stand like his, this time facing the door, and surrounding it were three workmen holding cattle prods. On that stand, however, was Darkling.

“Darkling!” Clubs yelled immediately. “Are you ok?”

“Look,” said Darkling, paying attention the workmen rather than Clubs, “if any of you would like to grow a conscience now would be a great time to-”

They were cut off by a cattle prod to the stomach, making them scream until it was removed. They slumped, panting, for a moment, then raised their head and smiled lopsidedly.

“Don’t antagonize them!” Clubs warned.

“I gotta tell you, your treatment of your guests is _ shocking _ to say the least,” they laughed. A different workman pressed a cattle prod to their side, and they screamed again.

“Darkling no!” Clubs shouted, but he knew it was no good. They couldn’t hear him.

“I warn you,” Darkling said, a little louder this time, their voice still full of forced cheer, “do that again and _ sparks will fly. _”

This time when Darkling screamed Clubs had to close his eyes. “Stop it!” he shouted. “Stop hurting them!”

Darkling said nothing, but there was another scream, and Clubs kept his eyes screwed shut.

“Hurt me instead!” he yelled. “I’m the one who broke it! Hurt me!”

No one answered him.

***

Butterfly really didn’t want to do this.

She knew as well as anyone and better than most that superpowers did not a superhero make. Powers were neither necessary nor sufficient for the creation of a hero, and just because one had powers didn’t mean one was obligated to use them. Many people chose to, but there were also plenty who did not, and it was a highly personal choice to make.

Hearts and Spades, thus far, had chosen not to be heroes, and it was a decision Butterfly understood. They had been through a lot, they were still recovering, and their powers came from a place that no one could envy. Up until now their powers had not been their own, and they were still adjusting to even having their abilities, let alone deciding what to do with them.

Still, the fact of the matter was they did have powers. And they had a reason to want to rescue Clubs. The intersection of those two facts meant that Butterfly had to ask if they wanted to help. They deserved the choice, at the very least.

Butterfly and Pox arrived at the boxcar at a little after two in the morning. Hearts and Spades had doubtless been texting Clubs frantically, and getting no reply, but Butterfly hadn’t wanted to talk to them until she had a plan. She as of yet had no plan but she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Hey,” she said, once she’d opened the door.

Immediately Hearts, who had been sitting on the sofa staring blankly into space, looked up and brightened to see Butterfly. Traffic Cone, who had been on her lap, meowed. Spades, who had been pacing the floor with a grim expression, was less enthused, but she stopped pacing and turned to face the newcomer.

Butterfly swallowed and tried to think of how to put it. “Ok, so, there’s been a bit of a setback.”

“A setback?” Hearts asked dubiously, stroking Traffic Cone.

“Where’s Clubs?” Spades wanted to know.

Butterfly winced. “He was captured. Along with the rest of the team. By the Ring of Gyges.”

Hearts made a wounded noise in her throat, and Spades went to go sit on the couch next to her. Spades put her arm around Hearts, and Hearts leaned into her. Tears were already running down her cheeks, and Traffic Cone was meowing and head butting Hearts’ stomach gently.

“Hey,” said Butterfly, after a moment’s awkward silence. “I’m, I’m going to get him back. Don’t worry, I will get everyone back.”

Hearts and Spades looked at each other, then at Butterfly. Their faces were full of worry and despair. Butterfly sighed, then went to kneel on the floor in front of them.

“I’m going to get them back,” she repeated. “I’m going now. But I came to ask if you wanted to go with me. They’re you’re family too, so if you want to help rescue them you deserve that chance. I will do this, with or without you, but if you want to come I could use the help.”

Hearts and Spades looked at each other again, and this time their gaze did not break for several seconds. Not for the first time Butterfly wondered if these two had some silent method of communication, of if they just knew each other that well. Then, after a few agonizing moments, they both turned to look at her again.

“If you get in over your head,” Spades said carefully, “we’ll come. Call, text, and we’ll come. If you don’t come back, we’ll come. But, until then, we’ll stay here.”

Butterfly nodded. “I understand.”

“Got it,” said Pox.

“_ Meow, _” said Traffic Cone.


	5. Chapter 5

Dynamo didn’t know how long she’d been alone, but it felt like a long time. She’d woken up here, in this little white room, bound upright with her hands on either side of her head with enormous metal manacles. She’d screamed, at first, but that had done her no good. She’d demanded the empty air tell her where her family was, and that did her no more good. She’d thrashed and struggled and made as many threats as she could think of, but still the only sound was that of her own voice.

After what felt like hours, Dynamo finally slumped in her shackles, panting and exhausted. Her throat was raw and scratchy; she promised herself that as soon as she got out of here she’d go get ice cream. They would all sit around the boxcar, eating ice cream and cuddling under blankets, and she would leave all thoughts of GENA and Aegis until tomorrow. She just needed to-

“See?” drawled a voice as the door to the little white room finally opened. “Being quiet wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The man who entered, the one who had spoken, was flanked by two women. The woman on his left seemed to be a scientist, as she was wearing a lab coat, but he was not and neither was the woman on his right holding a clipboard. His hands were in the pockets of his suit, his demeanor relaxed, but his eyes were intent as he looked at Dynamo. His dark hair was slicked back, and his face was smooth and boyish, wire rim spectacles perched on his nose. He was short too, but not like he wasn’t done growing, more like he’d been short all his life. He came to stand before Dynamo, and he had to look up at her once he got close.

“Where’s my family?” Dynamo demanded.

“We’ll get to that,” the man said flippantly. “My name is Marcus-

“I don’t care what your name is,” Dynamo told him, “tell me what you did with my family. Now.”

The man, Marcus, sighed and began to pace slowly in front of her. “It’s Dynamo, right?” he asked conversationally. “Or do you prefer Karina?”

Dynamo tried to keep her surprise hidden, and judging by the way he didn’t look up she managed it. She could recall a time when her mask had meant everything to her. Up to now she hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“Maybe Kari?” Marcus was still talking. “Sorry, that’s overly familiar. I tend to get that way when talking to-”

“Seriously,” Dynamo interrupted, “either you tell me where my family is or when I bust out of here you’re the first person I hit with twenty thousand volts.”

Marcus laughed, unconvincingly but not sounding particularly troubled. “Hilarious,” he said. “Nobody told me you were funny.”

“Who said I was joking,” Dynamo said. She did not make it sound like a question.

“Please,” Marcus gave her a dubious look. “The only way you’re getting out of there is with one of these.”

He stopping pacing and pulled a keycard from his pocket, then waved it in front of her face. As she watched he reached up, nearly standing on his toes, and swiped the card through a card reader on the side of the shackle. The manacle holding Dynamo’s right arm opened with an angry hiss, freeing her.

Dynamo’s hand shot out to grab the card from him, but he jumped back out of her reach, eyes dancing with laughter.

“Ah ah ah,” he said, watching as she struggled to reach him with only one arm free, “not so fast. We have to strike a deal before I can release you.”

“Deal?” Dynamo demanded, still straining for the keycard he was holding just out of reach. “What deal?”

“The deal where you come work for me,” Marcus explained. “I’ll have you know you’ve created quite a stir around here,  _ Dynamo. _ A lot of our data’s gone missing, and our sources tell us that’s all to do with you. There’s a lot of money on the line if we don’t get it back.”

Dynamo stopped straining and looked down her nose at him, trying to look unimpressed.

“My offer is very competitive,” he continued, slipping the keycard back into his pocket and stepping closer. “In exchange you get out of those bonds, with a power dampening collar of course, and you don’t get sold off to the highest bidder.”

“Take a nine circle vacation,” Dynamo suggested. “I’ll send you off myself.”

“Is that your final answer?” Marcus said, in a manner of someone teasing a small child. “I don’t think you really want to disrespect me that-”

Marcus stopped talking. There was a pause while no one moved, least of all Marcus, who was frozen in place. Then the angle of his face shifted a little, so that the glare from the lights reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes behind a white sheen across the lenses. He pulled the handkerchief out of the pocket of his suit and wiped at his face. Dynamo, in turn, wiped the little dribble of stray saliva off her chin with her free hand.

“Get that thing restrained,” Marcus said, low and dangerous.

The woman in the lab coat reached into one of its large pockets and pulled out what looked like an ordinary taser. She clicked the button once, and it buzzed with purple lightning. Not an ordinary taser.

“Don’t you dare, you-” Dynamo tried to say, but that was as far as she got before the taser was pressed to her side and all she could do was scream.

***

Knowing that she had to go in alone didn’t make doing so any easier.

Kate would have made it a lot easier, but Kate was in London with Charlotte Charles, watching her audition for the Royal Ballet School. There was no way she could get back in time to help, so Butterfly hadn’t even told her anything was wrong. She could fill Kate in on what had happened when she got back, after Butterfly had rescued everyone.

It was early in the morning when she reached the building at the address on the piece of paper she’d taken from the goon. She’d been up all night, but sleeping was the last thing on her mind. Not without her family. It was still dark, but even from across the parking lot, hidden by a row of ornamental trees, she could make out the name on the side of the building. Apis Laboratories.

Thankfully it didn’t take someone of Dynamo’s technical expertise to google a name, and Butterfly found herself looking at their webpage. She had to admit, it was very well designed . . . if your aim was to look very informative while actually conveying at little information as possible. She clicked around for about five minutes and wound up back at the home page no less than a dozen times, none the wiser about who owned Apis Laboratories or what they were supposedly doing. A map of the building would have been nice, but she knew that was too much to hope for without Dynamo’s help.

She’d decided she had learned all she could that way, and had just resolved to get a closer look when suddenly her phone’s screen went black. She tapped at it curiously, wondering if the lab had something to knock out cell phones. Then words, in green sans serif font, with no pop up or banner, appeared across her screen.

_ do they have Dynamo? _

Butterfly blinked. Her keyboard popped up. Clearly whoever had taken over her phone expected a reply.

_ Who are you? _ she typed.

The reply was almost instantaneous.  _ Gathering of Extensive kNowldege for Absolution.filetype _

_ GENA, _ Butterfly hesitated, then continued.  _ Yes, they have Dynamo. Can you help me get her back? _

Again the reply took no time to type.  _ network is closed. can’t get inside. _

_ I can get you inside. _ Butterfly typed, trying not to misspell anything in her haste.  _ If I do, you can help me find Dynamo and the others? _

_ yes. _

Butterfly shoved her phone into her pocket and made for the front of the building.

The lobby of the Apis Laboratories building was sparse and nondescript. There was a front desk with a receptionist typing on a computer, a sleepy looking guard in one corner and a potted plant in the other. Behind the desk was a set of large double doors, leading farther into the building, and beside those was a keycard reader. There were no cameras that she could see, but that didn’t mean none were there, and she was willing to bet there was a silent alarm button under the desk.

A person could go around the front desk in either direction, so Butterfly chose to go around the side of the room with the potted plant. She carefully did not get anywhere near the front of the desk, and the receptionist took no notice of her, as receptionists usually did when people did not approach them directly. She made it past the back of the back of the desk and was almost to the doors when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Hold on there,” said the guard, and Butterfly stopped obligingly and looked over her shoulder at him as he jogged across the room toward her.

The guard positioned himself between her and the door, arms crossed over his chest and frown on his face.

“Excuse me,” said Butterfly, making to brush past him as though in a narrow hallway.

“Wait a minute missy,” said the guard, putting one finger to Butterfly’s shoulder and pushing her gently backwards. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Butterfly let herself be pushed, then gave him a dubious look. “Inside,” she said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.

The guard looked a little wrong-footed, but held his ground. “What business do you have here?”

“My job,” said Butterfly, again making it sound like this should have been obvious.

She threw a glance over her shoulder at the receptionist, who was watching the exchange with a confused expression. Butterfly indicated the guard with her gaze, then rolled her eyes, and the receptionist huffed out a nervous laugh.

The guard, when she looked back at him, looked surprised. “Dressed like that?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Butterfly looked down at her beloved costume as though in total disgust. She gave a deep, weary sigh of great theatricality and looked back up at the guard.

“Don’t ask,” she said, as though she’d had the longest night of her life and was in no mood to recount it.

The guard’s expression instantly melted into one of sympathy, and he nodded his understanding. He took the two steps to the double doors and swiped a card on a lanyard through the card reader, causing it to beep cheerfully at him. Then he tipped his hat to her and stood aside, holding the door open for her.

“Thank you,” said Butterfly gratefully, and went through the double doors deeper into Apis Laboratories.


	6. Chapter 6

Pain shot through Sundog’s body as the cattle prod was pressed once again to their side. The room was already full of the smell of cooked meat and burning hair, and the acrid stench once again redoubled. They had started off putting the cattle prod to the same spot time after time, but that had quickly evolved into moving it around, trying to find where caused the most pain.

The large, muscular man with the cattle prod finally pulled it away, and Sundog was again able to open their eyes. The man with the clipboard stared at Sundog with pursed lips. Sundog smiled at the two of them, a radiant, dazzling smile, much brighter than anything they could manage. It lit up the small white room.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

“How were you able to defeat the programming on Ceyx’s Medea and Dedalus?” the man with the clipboard asked.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

The man with the clipboard nodded to the man with the cattle prod, and it was again pressed to Sundog’s side. Sundog did not cry out, as they had not yet made any noise they did not intend. It hurt, but not unbearably so. Sundog breathed through their nose and waited, and presently the cattle prod was taken away.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

“Your people were able to completely eradicate the control mechanism that kept those two assets in check,” the man with the clipboard said, a little more forcefully than before. “Tell us how they did it.”

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

Without needing a nod the man with the cattle prod pressed it once again to Sundog’s flesh, a savage smile on his face. A few deep breaths through the nose, the smell almost more unpleasant than the burn, and the pain stopped. Sundog smiled back at him. Their smile was brighter, and the man with the cattle prod faltered.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

“Tell us how it’s done!” the man with the clipboard yelled, his patience failing at last.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

“Say something else!” the man with the cattle prod commanded.

He held the point of the cattle prod inches from Sundog’s nose and let it spark. Sundog did not flinch, and instead looked the man with the cattle prod in the eye. The man with the cattle prod swallowed and tried to smile but didn’t quiet manage it. Sundog smiled. Their smile was brighter, and there was fear in the man’s eyes.

“Hi,” said Sundog. “I’m Sundog.”

***

Wandering blindly around the building was not a good plan, as Butterfly discovered when she ran into a group of patrolling guards.

This was a place they held captive superheroes, she reasoned as she kicked one man’s gun out of his hand while Pox attacked his head, then dropped to the floor to swipe his legs out from under him. People wandering the halls in strange costumes were probably not a good sign, and these guards had been trained to detain anyone doing so.

As she tackled a second guard while a third fired repeatedly into her back, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off her suit, she wondered if she should have changed clothes before coming. She decided against it as she slammed the second guard’s head into the wall, knocking him out, and stood on the throat of the first guard to face the third; Pox had already snatched the gun away and was hovering just out of reach. She didn’t want these people knowing her real identity once she’d freed an entire shipment of prisoners.

Once the third guard had been punched in the throat in the act of calling for backup, taking her voice and leaving her sprinting in the opposite direction in panic, Butterfly stopped to take stock as Pox landed once again on her shoulder. She had no way of knowing where in the building her family were being held, and she had no way to get them out if they were behind locked doors. Remembering how she’d gotten inside, she reached down to the unconscious duo on the floor and untangled one of the lanyards from around the man’s neck. She put it on, feeling a little better equipped, and turned a corner.

Immediately to her left was a door labeled “Control Room.”

Pushing through the door Butterfly found the room the three guards had likely just vacated. It had two rolling chairs and two long tables: one laden with a coffee machine and accompanying items, and one nearly sagging under the weight of a dozen computer monitors. These were flipping through shots of various empty hallways, and one computer tower was perched precariously on the end of the table. There was also a fourth guard, sitting in one of the rolling chairs and typing on his phone, which was plugged into a charger.

The guard looked up when Butterfly entered, and immediately straightened. “How did you get in here!?” he demanded.

“Flashed my winning smile,” Butterfly informed him serenely. Then she didn’t so much smile as bare her teeth at him, a horrible rictus spreading her face wide and making the guard go pale. On her shoulder Pox clicked her wickedly sharp beak menacingly.

The guard held up both hands in surrender. “I hate this job really,” he said, with feeling. “Long hours, terrible pay, they don’t even have dental-”

“Get out,” said Butterfly. Immediately the man leaped up and, giving her a wide berth as he did so, fled the room.

Butterfly went to his phone, abandoned on the table, and unplugged the charger. Then she used the cord to plug her own phone into the computer tower. The screen was no longer black, and she hoped GENA was still inside.

The effect was almost instantaneous. All of the screens went dark, then were filled with a logo Butterfly didn’t recognize. The letters E-N-A appeared first, in bright gold font. Then a long, sinuous green dragon slid into the screen and, after circling the other letters, curled itself into the shape of a G. GENA.

“Cute,” said Butterfly, to no one.

The nearest screen went black, then green typeface appeared on it.  _ thank you. _

“You can hear me?” Butterfly asked, blinking in puzzlement.

_ phone has a microphone, _ GENA typed. Butterfly wondered if the AI was making fun of her.

“Ok,” said Butterfly, shaking off her confusion, “where are the others?”

_ Dynamo is seven levels down, _ GENA typed.  _ first door on the right, outside the stairway at the far end of this hallway. the others are close by. _

“Seven levels?” Butterfly said in alarm. “How big is this place?”

_ 13 levels, _ GENA replied.

“Thirteen levels,” Butterfly whispered to herself. That meant the facility, if every level was as big as the actual structure at ground level, could be enormous. A lot of kidnapped superkids could be held in a place that big.

“Can you open all doors and free everyone?” Butterfly asked.

_ not from here, _ GENA told her.  _ need to be plugged into the mainframe. _

“Where’s that?”

_ level 13. _

“Of course,” Butterfly sighed. “If I unplug you can you stay in this computer? Can you, like, stop any alarms from going off?”

_ all communications are shut off, _ GENA told her.  _ and yes. _

“Great,” said Butterfly, and unplugged her phone.

Peeking out into the hallway Butterfly saw no one between her and the far end of the hall, where a door marked “Stairwell” waited. From around the corner though, she heard footsteps approaching, but at a leisurely pace. Deciding not to waste time, Butterfly darted out and made for the door.

All she had to do was get down to level seven.


	7. Chapter 7

Dynamo wasn’t sure how long she’d been out this time, but when she woke up Marcus and the woman with the clipboard were gone. The woman in the labcoat was still there though, and still holding her taser, staring dispassionately up at Dynamo as though expecting her to do a trick. She probably hadn’t been out very long then.

“Hit me with that thing again,” Dynamo invited. “See what happens.”

The woman sighed and pocketed the taser. “If you’re not feeling any more cooperative after that, I’ll just have to find something a little more your speed,” she said, sounding almost bored.

“What’s the matter?” Dynamo asked as the woman turned around and crossed to the door. “Afraid your tech won’t be enough to keep me restrained?”

The woman paused with her hand on the doorknob, then turned her head back towards Dynamo.

“I wouldn’t test me, little-”

That was as far as she got. At the precise moment the door came flying open, hitting her hard in the side of the head. The woman crumpled like so much wet laundry, and the door banged shut again. Dynamo blinked at it for a second. Then the door came open again, more strength than speed this time, pushing the woman to the side.

“Butterfly!” Dynamo crowed triumphantly as Butterfly raced into the room and slammed the door behind herself.

The door had a simple lock, like the door of a bedroom, and this she turned to the locked position. Then Butterfly dragged the woman in front of the door as though to barricade it.

“How did you-” Dynamo began.

“No time,” Butterfly said, crossing to where Dynamo was restrained. “How do I get you out?”

“There’s a card reader,” Dynamo said hurriedly, noticing that Butterfly had a keycard around her neck on a lanyard, “on the side of the manacles.”

Butterfly reached up and swiped the card through the card reader at one of Dynamo’s wrists, then the other. She had just freed Dynamo’s left ankle when there came a  _ bang _ at the door, a though of a body slamming into it. Butterfly hurriedly moved to Dynamo’s right ankle and freed that too, and Dynamo dropped to the floor.

“Can you use your powers?” Butterfly asked urgently. “Because there’s, like, five guards out there.”

“I can feel them,” Dynamo told her, as the sounds of a key scraping in the lock came from the door. “Hold on a sec.”

Dynamo turned around and, using the manacles still attached to the stand as footholds, climbed up toward the ceiling. There was a fluorescent light above them, protected only by a layer of thin, cheap plastic. As the door opened and guards began spilling into the room, their shouts overlaying with Pox’s screeching and Butterfly’s yelling, Dynamo pulled back her hand and punched the light with all her strength.

Sparks flew in every direction, and the nearest guard swore as the lights went out. Suddenly the room was illuminated only by the light spilling in from the hallway and the sparks raining down around Dynamo. She could feel electricity from the light fixture running through her body, filling her with power, and she turned and held out a hand to release that energy upon the five bodies facing her.

Lighting arced through the air and struck the guards. They screamed, all of them to a man, and collapsed on the floor, sparks skittering across their skin and their hair smoking gently.

“Nice,” said Butterfly as Dynamo jumped down.

“Zap,” Pox commented, then clicked her beak as though in distaste for the smell.

“Yep,” Dynamo concurred, surveying her handiwork with approval. Then she turned to face Butterfly. “So, where are-”

She was cut off by Butterfly flinging her arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug.

Something about going from getting tased by scientists to hugged by her sister made Dynamo’s brain stall, like temperature shock from the contrast of sensations. Then suddenly a rush of emotion swamped her, and she found herself clinging to Butterfly. It was almost like waking from a nightmare to find that she had not been dreaming, like the presence of one of her family holding her made the situation real in a way living it had not.

“Are you ok?” Butterfly asked, her face pressed into Dynamo’s hair.

“Yeah,” Dynamo nodded, with no idea if it was true or not. She could feel Pox nuzzling the side of her head, but her face was too full of Butterfly’s shoulder to see much.

Butterfly pulled back, smiling weakly. “Ok. That’s good.”

“Glad,” said Pox, her bright eyes shining in the dark.

Dynamo did her best to return the smile, not sure that she really managed it. “Where are the others?”

“All on this level,” Butterfly said, wiping delicately at the corner of one eye with a knuckle. “And communications are shut off, so we should be able to get everyone without alerting any more guards.”

“How’d you manage that?” Dynamo asked, blinking in confusion. Butterfly wasn’t stupid, but she wasn’t exactly a tech person either.

Butterfly pulled her phone out of her pocket and showed Dynamo the screen. It was completely black, and after a moment green text began to appear.

_ found you. _

“GENA’s helping you?” Dynamo asked, no less confused than before. “Why?”

“Fondness for her creator?” Butterfly speculated.

_ More to Learn. _ GENA replied.

Dynamo closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course,” she said, “this place must have switched to a closed network when they got their data stolen. GENA’s job, what I created it for, is to gather data, so it used you to get inside.”

Butterfly looked dubious for a second, then shook her head as though to clear it. “She said if we plug her into the mainframe she can open up all the doors and let everyone out.”

“That keycard can let everyone out,” Dynamo indicated the lanyard demonstratively.

Butterfly shook her head again. “No, you don’t get it, this place is huge. I have no idea how many supers are here but I think it’s a lot. We don’t have time to rescue everyone one by one.”

Dynamo thought for a moment. It was true they couldn’t just leave a bunch of captive supers here. Calling Aegis on the lab was a risk these days, and the Pack would never feel safe as long as it was still standing. They knew Dynamo’s secret identity, and who knew how much else about them. She had to look at the bigger picture.

“Go get the others,” Dynamo said, taking Butterfly’s phone out of her hand. “I’ll go plug GENA into the mainframe and shut this place down.”

“Are you sure?” Butterfly looked scared. “Maybe we should rescue the others and then we all go.”

“No time,” Dynamo said, “with communications down they’re going to be suspicious, and it won’t be long before this place is crawling with guards. We have to do this now.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Butterfly said. “We can-”

“No,” Dynamo said, “you need to save the others. If we only save four people I want it to be them.”

“Five,” Butterfly corrected.

“What?” Dynamo blinked.

“Five,” Butterfly repeated, “counting you. If I let you do this, you come back, understand?”

“Deal,” Dynamo said easily.

“Promise,” Butterfly insisted.

Dynamo sighed. “I promise,” she said resignedly, “now go save our family.”

They left the room together, stepping carefully over the singed guards, then Butterfly took off further down the hall and Dynamo made for the stairs. As she went she looked down at the phone, at the black screen with GENA’s green text.

“Why did you help Butterfly?” she asked, not sure what answer she expected.

_ More to Learn, _ came the reply at once.  _ and they are not allowed to steal you. _

“Steal me?” Dynamo asked, perplexed.

GENA’s reply, when it came, made a strange weight she had no time for settle in Dynamo’s stomach.

_ I do not share. I gather. _


	8. Chapter 8

“So, what’s this doohickey do?” Darkling asked breathlessly.

They were breathless, currently, because they had been screaming moments ago. They knew that they shouldn’t be screaming every time they were hurt; the other members of their legacy would purse their lips in disapproval if they knew. Auntumbra might understand, but probably no one else. Darkling wondered idly if their adoptive parents would understand. Probably.

The Pack would definitely understand.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” Darkling pressed once they’d gotten a little more of their breath back.

The woman in the white lab coat currently using an incredibly complicated looking instrument to do something vaguely ticklish to Darkling’s left ear ignored them. She had been ignoring them since she entered the room, accompanied by a man with a cattle prod. This had been pressed to Darkling’s side every time they wiggled away from the woman’s inspection, which was not in itself painful but didn’t seem like the type of thing they should be submitting to.

Darkling had tried to make puns at first, but it was hard to be witty when your audience didn’t appreciate the effort going into it.

Suddenly something went  _ into _ Darkling’s ear, deep enough to make them worry for their eardrum, and they reflexively jerked their head away. Immediately the cattle prod was pressed again to Darkling’s side, and try as they might to keep the scream behind their teeth it was wrenched from them by the pain of electrocution. When the pain stopped Darkling went limp, panting for breath, exhausted beyond measure.

That was when they decided they were done with this.

“Don’t. Do that. Again.” Darkling said, as low and dangerous as they could make their voice.

The man with the cattle prod laughed, and sparked it without pressing it to Darkling’s flesh. “What are you going to do, little boy?” he said, in a surprisingly deep voice.

Darkling raised their head, and hardening their eyes as much as was possible as they fixed the man with their gaze. They channeled all their pain, all their worry for their family, all their complete 110% doneness with being chained up here, into the look they were currently giving their captor. The man with the cattle prod suddenly looked markedly less comfortable than he had a moment ago.

“I’m going to put a tennis ball in your fucking knee,” said Darkling.

The man opened his mouth, presumably to beg for his life (or his knee), when suddenly the door burst open and Butterfly, Nightingale, Clubs and Sundog all piled into the room.

Both the woman and the man turned to Darkling, who couldn’t keep the manic grin off their face.

***

As Butterfly freed Darkling from their shackles and Clubs tossed the scientist and her thug into a corner, Nightingale took a moment to breathe. She was still a bit shaky, and everything seemed oddly muted around her, like she was seeing it from underwater. She knew she’d need to spend some time in her hammock, or curled up in Clubs’ blanket nest, before she felt better. Maybe some hot chocolate might help.

“Wait,” said Darkling, jumping down and hurrying over to where Clubs had been about to drop the scientist onto the floor.

Clubs waited, holding the woman’s unconscious body in his arms bridal style, and Darkling ran over to him. They began riffling through the woman’s pockets, and eventually came up with a ballpoint pen.

“Well its not a tennis ball,” Darkling sighed, then held out their hand in a fist. A portal opened in the shadow on the floor, and through this Darkling dropped the pen.

The man who’d been holding the cattle prod when they walked it suddenly jerked awake, yelling in a deep baritone. Through his pant leg Nightingale could see the outline of the pen, perpendicular to his leg. It seemed to be embedded rather far into his knee.

Clubs dropped the scientist and punched him, and he fell unconscious again.

“Was that necessary?” Butterfly asked, looking at the pen with obvious distaste.

“I made him a promise,” Darkling said, completely deadpan. “Why, what did you guys do to the people who were torturing you?”

“Dynamo zapped some guards pretty good,” Butterfly admitted.

Sundog, who was slumped against the wall after being carried into the room by Clubs, raised their head and grinned. “My smile was brighter than theirs.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” said Clubs.

Then Darkling looked at Nightingale, and she felt a little shiver of discomfort shoot down her spine. The state in which Butterfly and Clubs had found her had not been a good one. She had been throwing herself mentally against the power dampener, but physically she had been dead to the world. Not moving, barely breathing, insensate to what was going on around her. When she’d heard Butterfly’s voice she’d assumed it was a hallucination, brought on by the strain of what she was doing. It had taken a few minutes, and being released into Clubs’ familiar embrace, for her to return to the land of the living. Again.

“Me either,” she said, rather than recounting all of it. Darkling did not need to know.

“Right,” said Butterfly, obviously noticing Nightingale’s discomfort, “let’s get out of here.”

“What about Dynamo?” Darkling asked. “Where is she?”

“She’s gonna bring this place down,” Butterfly told them. “She’s . . . she’ll catch up with us.”

Darkling nodded, apparently satisfied, and made for the door.

Clubs picked up Sundog again, and they all filed out of the room. There were no guards to stop them, and all of the doors on this floor had been left open when their occupants had been rescued. They made for the stairs, and Nightingale counted them all lucky there was no one waiting for them on the stairwell. It was all going well. It seemed the might make it out. She hoped they would make it out unmolested.

That hope was dashed when they made it back to the main floor, and exited the stairwell to find a half dozen guards and several men in workers uniforms, all of them wielding cattle prods, blocking their way.

“Ok,” said Butterfly, in the silence before anyone moved, “I’ll take the three on the far left, and-”

At that precise moment, the lights went out. There was a moment of dead quiet, and then Sundog began to glow faintly, illuminating the hallway and the pale faces of their opposition. Then there was a dull, reverberating  _ thud _ or rather many  _ thuds _ all at once that compounded to form a single sound. The guards all twitched at the noise; most of them looked terrified.

Nightingale looked at Butterfly, to see her grinning from ear to ear.

Then the sound of thundering feet came from every direction. Down every hallway in the building a stampede of captives were sprinting for freedom. One of the guards dropped his weapon and dashed back, away from the Pack towards the exit. Another followed suit, until all of them were fleeing as fast as they could run, away from the sound of footsteps.

“Come on,” Nightingale said, “it’s about to get crowded.”

When they were outside, watching a steady stream of captive superhumans spilling from every door in the building, Nightingale felt a little less detached. The sun had risen at some point while they were inside, and the sky was a pleasant pink with gold streaks. Sundog decided they could hover on their own, and Clubs let them go to put his arm around Nightingale. The comforting solidness of it, like a weighted blanket pressing down on her shoulders, helped her breathe a little easier.

Presently Dynamo appeared out of the crowd, looking haggard but pleased with herself, and joined them a safe distance from the commotion.

“Guess what I found,” she said, taking up position beside Butterfly to watch the lab empty out.

“Stunchucks?” Butterfly guessed.

Dynamo held up her weapon, smiling. “Stunchucks. And thankfully they didn’t think to take my belt.”

At some point a fire got started, somewhere toward the front of the building, but by that time only a straggler or two per minute was trickling out. No one in a lab coat had made it out, though Nightingale supposed some of them might have had the sense to take theirs off and try to blend into the crowd. Distantly she knew they were going to have to deal with that at some point. For now though, the lab was empty, at least of captives, and was burning to the ground.

“Ooh,” said Butterfly suddenly, “Dynamo, do you still have my phone?”

“Yeah,” Dynamo fished it out of her pocket and passed it to Butterfly. “Sorry, almost forgot.”

“Everybody get in close,” said Butterfly, stepping forward a little and tapping the screen a few times. The front facing camera came up.

“Rescue selfie!” Darkling said excitedly, and they all gathered around.

Butterfly took the picture, the six of them bedraggled and exhausted, but together and free and very much alive. As Nightingale watched over her shoulder she sent the picture to Portia, with the message  _ forward this to our friend. _ Nightingale wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t trouble her very much just now.

“Also, credit where credit’s due,” Butterfly said, directly into her phone. “Thank you GENA.”

The phone did not respond. Butterfly binked at it as though confused, but Dynamo put her arm around Butterfly’s shoulders and she looked over at her.

“Come on,” said Dynamo, sounding tired but deeply satisfied. “Let’s go home.”

***

“Alright,” said Marcus, turning off the security footage of the destruction of Apis Laboratories, “you’ve made your point. Or rather, the girl has made your point for you. We should have taken her with the others.”

“Next time perhaps you’ll learn not to question me,” Marguerite said dryly. She sipped daintily at the glass of scotch in her hand before setting it down on the table.

“I still don’t see what use she is to you.” Marcus, the representative from the Ring of Gyges that had been her liaison since she’d started doing business with them, took a long swig of his own scotch and pointedly did not yet set it aside.

“You’ve just seen her break into a supposedly secure facility, steal countless major assets and leave the place in ruins,” Marguerite raised an eyebrow. “You still don’t see her value?”

“She’s cost us a great deal of money,” Marcus said tersely, “but I don’t see what about her little jailbreak makes her a good candidate for Project Atalanta.”

“That’s what you and those fools at Ceyx have in common Marcus,” Marguerite informed him coolly. “You don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“Perhaps if you would be kind enough to spell it out for me,” Marcus’s hand tightened on his glass. He was, doubtless, very annoyed about being proven wrong, perhaps even more than about losing a lab and so many valuable assets.

Marguerite smiled. “When I said ‘peak physical condition’ you both assumed I was referring to a specific body type.”

Marcus frowned, and Marguerite fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“You didn’t realize it,” she went on, “because the bias was so ingrained, but an image came to your mind and you did not deviate from it in your selection of candidates. You unintentionally chose subjects for this project based on an aesthetic, rather than any measurable qualification.”

“What qualification did you have in mind?” Marcus asked, his voice carefully even.

Marguerite hummed dubiously. “It’s more about what was accidentally excluded from the experiment. If a wider variety of candidates had been chosen for Project Atalanta it would have shown that my suspicions are correct.”

“Are you going to share your theory with me?” Marcus asked, after another large swig of his drink.

There was a pause while Marguerite pretended to consider. Marcus watched her, his eyes half hidden behind the glare on the lenses of his wire rimmed glasses. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then reached out and picked up her glass again.

“No,” she said, and took a sip. “I’m not.”

“What, then, am I left to believe but that you’re bluffing to cover the failure of your project, Miss Sinclair?” Marcus challenged, raising his chin slighting and giving her a smug look.

Marguerite gave him a serene smile. “I’m not going to tell you,” she repeated, “but bring me Butterfly and I’ll gladly show you.”


End file.
